“Go.” He whispers softly. Tears cresting in the corner of his big gray eyes. “Get outta here ‘Tol. This wasn’t meant for you. You found your soulmate, nothing is going to change that.” I’ll never understand how he knows me better than I know myself, but he does. I can feel my heart ripping into two separate parts, my future and my past.
“But John?” I whisper, the murmurs around me and the flashes from the cameras only amplifying my embarrassment.
“You aren’t his soulmate, baby girl. He’ll find her and thank you one day. Now go.” He releases my arm, and a collective gasp falls across the audience. I turn to run back to the house, but the heels of my shoes catch on the grass. I lean down to remove them; undoing the straps carefully, I remove the shoes and find a very confused looking John staring at me from the altar.
“I’m sorry.” I mouth the only words that will leave my mouth. I pick up the frock I’m wearing to run as fast as I can towards the house, the billowing lace chafing my freshly waxed legs.
When I reach the top of the lawn, I spot the limo John and I were supposed to leave in for our honeymoon. The driver leans against the passenger side door, reading the newspaper.
“Hey!” I yell, drawing his attention from the newspaper to me. His eyes widen at me, and he looks behind me, I assume looking for John. As I get closer to the long black car, I notice the just married sign written on the back. Fuck. This was not a well thought out plan, this was a 'I need to get the fuck out of here,' mission abort-style plan.
“Can you take me to LAX?” I ask. He nods, looking from the ceremony down the hill to me and back again.
“Don’t ask.” I snap, wrenching the car door open and throwing myself inside quickly. My heart pounds against my chest as he pulls away from a future that would have been secure to chase after a future that could break me more, but I need to know.
Chapter 3 Rhyit
The crowd roars, and the energy they’re giving off makes me feel invincible. Who ever said you couldn’t get off on a vibe was fucking nuts. The energy in the Tacoma Dome tonight could wake the spirits. I bring the microphone back to my mouth and toss a lazy smirk to the hot blonde in a hot pink tube top standing front row. Denny, our replacement drummer, counts me into Riot Act, our latest number one single.
The song starts, and I miss my cue as the blonde pulls the front of her tube top down exposing her very large, very natural tits. It’s a damn good day to be me. My band counts me in again, and this time I don’t miss my cue. I take a deep breath and belt the lyrics to a song of destruction and heartbreak. It’s a masterpiece and one of my hardest songs to sing night after night. I take two steps to the left, closer to the blonde with her tits still on display. I lean down, the leather of my pants sticking to the sweat on my legs, and she mouths every word to the song as I place the microphone in front of her mouth. Her cherry red lips almost touch the windscreen as she sings the song, perfectly on cue. Her eyes never leave mine as her voice lowers to almost a growl. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that that is one of those chicks who would purposely poke a hole in the condom. She’s beautiful, sure, but she’s a fame whore. I can see it from a mile away, she’s only in it for the notoriety of fucking a rockstar. Works for me, I’m not looking for a long time, I’m looking for a good time. I motion to Jonah, my security, to bring this girl backstage. He nods back to me, message received. I pull the mic back from her lips and give her my best ‘I’m gonna fuck you’ wink.
I continue the song, feeding off my band mates as I strut across the stage. Boston, my bassist, rolls his eyes at my theatrics but steps up next to me to participate. The dude’s so blitzed, he probably doesn’t even know what city we’re in, but I don’t care. As long as he shows up on time and plays the fuck out of his instrument it’s no bother to me what he shoves up his nose.
Alex, my best friend and guitarist, steps in front of the crowd and swings his long blonde hair as his fingers fly across the strings of the guitar. The man is a legend with an ax, and I couldn’t be more proud of the following he’s gained. Some dude in the front row even has the same haircut and T-shirt as Alex. He backs up from the crowd, and some girl in the back screams how much she loves him. He pulls his hand away from the guitar and blows her a kiss. She screams even louder, and he looks over at me with a full smile. He loves this life as much as I do, we were made for this.
Sweat pours down my face as I place the mic back on its stand. I grab the bottle of Jack from the base of the stand and let the liquid fire cascade down my throat. The burn of the whiskey calms my aching voice, and I revel in the cheers the crowd makes as I take another hefty gulp.
“Thank you, Seattle! It’s been so fuckin’ real! See you in ‘86!” I yell into the microphone. “Give it up for Boston, Denny, and Alex. They played their fucking hearts out tonight, am I right?” My voice echoes back to me above the deafening roars of the audience. I love this life. There’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be than right here and right now. As I head off stage to prepare for the encore the crowd knows is coming, I grab the bottle of water one of the roadies hands me and a fresh towel.
“You guys were incredible.” Garrett, our manager, yells over the crowd. Garrett is about as useful as a used tampon, he spends eighty percent of his time chomping at the bit for our leftover women, and the other twenty, kissing our asses so hard I have permanent lip prints on my left cheek. Perfect idea for a tattoo; I’ll run it by the boys later. I chug the bottled water and pour the remains over my head to cool me off. Water droplets fall over my face as I drench my ink black hair, and after taking a deep breath, I grab my Fender off the stand for one last song.
It’s the same song I sing to end every show. It’s the same song that sends me into a tailspin every single fucking night, but it’s my last hope. The last good thing I’ve done in a long fucking time. The opening chords to Pistol start, and I once again lose myself in the lyrics that haunt my dreams.
Chapter 4 Rhyit
Pounding on my hotel room door pulls me from unconsciousness. The knocking of the door matches the boom in my head. I haven’t even opened my eyes yet, and the hangover is in full swing. Fuck! I crack one eye open and take in the room around me, why the hell are the blinds open? The Space Needle might as well be the devil’s dick with how hard this place is fucking me right now. A warm tanned hand slithers across my chest, and I grab it before it can follow course to the deep south.
“Who the hell is here?” she mumbles into her pillow.
“ANDREW!” someone’s voice yells from the otherside of the door. It sounds like Boston, did I see Boston last night? The whole night feels like a blur, most nights do these days. The show, the drinking, the blow, the women. Speaking of women, I’ve got to get this girl out of here.
“Up you go, darlin.” I tell her, slowly pushing her naked body up from the sleeping position we were in. I sit up slowly, following her motion. The movement causes my head to feel like it went from being under the ocean to the top of a mountain. Too much blood too quickly. The nightstand clock reads just after eight in the morning. I haven’t seen eight am since… I honestly couldn’t tell you. Somebody must be in jail for Boston to be pouding on my door at the break of dawn. Tubetop Girl grabs her white shorts off the ground and starts pulling them up her legs, but a flash of a memory from the night before plays before my eyes. A white dress, long with something on her head, blonde hair, walking away from me.
“Were you wearing that all night?” I ask, pulling my boxers from the side of the bed where they landed last night.
“Yep.” she nods, not questioning why I asked if she had a wardrobe change in the middle of the night. I need to start picking smarter women.
“Huh. Okay.” I shrug as I push myself off the bed and make my way to the still pounding door. Boston is going to lose his damn voice if he keeps this yelling up. I grab the pack of smokes sitting on the entry table and pull one from the pack. I flick the lighter I found next to the pack and inhale the tangy tobacco taste. The exhale kind of makes me want to vomit, but I hold back the swirling in my stomach. I’m no amature, I’ve been doing this exact same routine for years.
I flick the lock on the white door and twist the knob. Boston and Garrett stand on the other side of the door, their faces solemn, eyes bloodshot, and whatever had them banging down my door in the middle of the damn night can’t be good.
“You need to get dressed.” Garrett whispers like his voice might not make it if he raised it an octave.
“What’s going on?” I inhale another drag from my cigarette. Tubetop Girl steps up beside me, fully dressed, kisses my cheek, and nods at the two men blocking her exit. They part for her, and I give her ass a light slap as she exits. Her head turns back at the contact, and I give her a quick wink.
“Please get dressed, Rhy.” Boston’s voice quakes at my name. His eyes pleading for me to do what he’s asking. “Meet us back in Denny’s room.” I nod and shut the door. Whatever is going on has my bandmate and manager absolutely shaken.
I grab a pair of jeans off the floor, giving them a quick sniff to make sure they don’t smell like desperate pussy or booze. When they pass the smell test, I shove my legs into them. The small baggie containing exactly what I need to deal with this shit storm falls out of the small pocket and lands on the floor. I look around the room, making sure no one can see me before I dump a small amount of the powder onto the webbing between my thumb and index finger, lowering my nose between the two fingers and inhale quickly. The quick burn is followed by the familiar feeling, the one that I’ve grown used to. It isn’t euphoria anymore, I would need a lot more than a quick bump to get me where I want to be, but this is enough to keep me stable. Level-headed. Ready to tackle whatever comes my way. I grab a t-shirt from the bag one of the roadies dropped off in my room last night, pocket the little baggie and my wallet.